


Amor Ordinem Nescit

by brevitas



Series: Leader of the Muses [15]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Greek Gods AU, M/M, Modern AU, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire discovers a trick to remembering; Enjolras isn't sure he likes it but that doesn't dim his enthusiasm for the revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amor Ordinem Nescit

The first time Grantaire drinks, it's merely for curiosity's sake. It's been four months and thirteen days since his ressurection.

He tells everybody that he is absolutely not to be disturbed tonight, that he is going to be doing some painting. No one questions him; he paints a lot these days, and never even looks sideways at a bottle. Enjolras kisses his forehead and wishes him a good evening. Grantaire feels a little guilty but pushes it away; this is an experiment, not a personal choice. No harm will come of it.

(Unfortunately not one of his brothers consider that an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic, and the only ones who stop do it through sheer willpower. Grantaire has no willpower, as he believes it harmless. They might have stopped him had one of them only asked.)

He waits until the cover of darkness and then eases down the side of Mount Olympus, slips into a mortal town with a liquor store. It's there that he buys as many bottles as he thinks he needs and considering how his friends get when he brings it up, he understands correctly that he's a heavy drinker. He magics home seventeen bottles and pays the tab with a smile.

He gets fall-down blackout drunk that night and paints until he passes out, at nearly two in the morning. When he wakes up he immediately has to piss and when he stands he nearly runs into a canvas that's set up a foot from his bed. It's covered by a thin sheet and Grantaire looks thoughtfully at it, unable to remember how it got there--but he figures the discovery can wait another minute, and on his way to the toilet encounters two more.

He uncovers the one closest to the bathroom when he's done, fisting a hand in the sheet and tearing it unceremoniously off. For a moment the image is nonsensical; he appears to have painted a castle, crowning a hill which is wearing a shawl of fog. He stares at it and undergoes a strange feeling of deja vu, like he's seen it before but doesn't know where. The other two paintings are the same; one is of a long tunnel somewhere crafted of trees that bend in their trunks and meet at the seam in the ceiling and the other is a busy town center full of faceless people.

He spends the longest staring at that one and finds Enjolras only by accident; there's a blonde in the corner jogging away from him laughing, his head thrown back and the sun glinting in his hair. Grantaire recognizes Apollo in the generous shape of his body and the way he smiles, sly but inspirational. He frowns, feels that niggling pull of deja vu again, like an insistent child. _You've seen this before_ , it says. _All you have to do is remember_.

But he can't, and he spends all afternoon walking past them, scrutinizing the lines, trying to understand why the fuck he painted them in the first place. He excuses himself to his bedroom again that night, and Enjolras frowns but allows him his space; he says he'll see him in the morning then and kisses him on the hair.

Grantaire gets just as drunk, and wakes up with more mystery paintings; four more this time, one painted right onto his wall. That one is the most detailed, and shows a long stretch of a green meadow that bleeds into a darker forest; on the edge of the trees he can see a silhouette of something but it doesn't look human and if he stares too long an inexplicable sort of sadness squats in his belly.

He sighs when he sits on the edge of his bed, frustrated with these portraits that could mean everything if only he'd remember. He has a vodka bottle in one hand and he starts drinking it idly as he studies the castle one, thinking he's noticed some vague shape behind the candle in the front window. The casual sips turn into hard drinking and when he glances down next half of its gone.

He groans and sets it between his feet, pushing the bottle away because this is just an experiment, not an addiction. He nudges it a few inches over with his toes and when he looks up next he flinches--all of the sudden, he knows what the castle means.

He stands and looks around and he knows what all of them mean, knows what the shadow in the meadow is, knows why Enjolras is running away from him in the town. The castle was in Scotland, he remembers, and the person behind the candle is Apollo, back when he wore a different human shape and carried it like a weight around his shoulders. He'd been painfully beautiful then, so striking that even those who did not recognize a religion knew him as a god.

He nearly falls out of his room and hurries to find Enjolras, who's sitting in the living room perusing Netflix. He glances up when Grantaire grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him and says, "I _remember_."

Enjolras' excitement is dampened as he realizes that Grantaire reeks of alcohol, and wrinkles his nose when he asks, "Have you been drinking?" His hope flares and sets to burn in his chest; if he's drinking again, he could just be making this sudden revelation up.

Grantaire sighs and says, "Enjolras, it doesn't matter. I _remember_. I know how much I love you, and I remember when I knew it, when you tried on that first mortal body and it fit awkwardly but you wore it anyway. Remember that? You were a redhead back then but the stitching wasn't right and if you got too angry your light leaked out."

Enjolras is staring up at him but he pulls Grantaire into his lap and cups his face with both his hands, laughs because he knows the day Grantaire is talking about, when Apollo was too stubborn to consider making another. It was his first try, and admittedly he should have had another go at it.

"Finally, Grantaire," he says, and laughs again, and kisses him, because Grantaire is looking at him like he used to, with that warmth kindling in the back of his gaze. Enjolras murmurs against his mouth, "And stop drinking," and Grantaire nods (because it's not an addiction, he thinks, it's just a hobby, a way to cut a loophole through Lethe's smothering shroud. He can give it up for this).

Enjolras' hands begin to wander and when he grips the hem of Grantaire's shirt and gives it a cursory tug the artist complies immediately; he leans back and allows Enjolras to strip him, the shirt being tossed somewhere behind them. Enjolras traces the lines of Grantaire's skin, follows the smears of colors that have incured somehow during painting. He doesn't complain because he likes them; many of the hues smell of flowers and they offer stark relief to curves, a streak of red highlighting where his hipbone juts out, a smattering of green over the swell of a rib. Grantaire is a piece of art himself, and Enjolras is hungry to know every inch of him.

He ends up shedding his shirt too when Grantaire bodily pulls it off, if only so he can touch more skin. Enjolras is heating up as the friction between them increases and Grantaire convulsively swallows when he feels fingers at his waistband. Enjolras looks up at him, waiting, his blue eyes impatient, and Grantaire is helpless to say anything but yes.

Enjolras pushes him back to tear the jeans off, doing it with no more grace than a desperate teen. He's thankful Grantaire has a bad habit of forgetting underwear for he needs only to break contact for one layer and then he returns Grantaire to his lap, sliding his palms down his sides. Grantaire's fully erect now, flushed against his stomach, and Enjolras leans forward to kiss his throat and say lowly, "Last chance to back out."

Grantaire's only answer is to flick a glance at the open door--it slams shut and clicks when its locks slide home.

Grantaire obligingly gets up a moment later to help Enjolras out of his pants, and doesn't have the wits to smother his laugh when he sees that he's wearing Captain America boxer briefs. "Seriously?" He asks, because it should look ridiculous and it doesn't, and defensively Enjolras says, "Jehan bought them for me."

That would explain it then (Grantaire makes a mental note to thank Persephone). He shimmies them down to Enjolras' ankles and lets the blonde do the rest as he climbs him again, straddles his lap and kisses his skin.

Grantaire is glistening with sweat by now and the room's temperature is still steadily rising--it has to at least be ninety degrees between them but Grantaire doesn't complain, and Enjolras doesn't notice. For the artist it's like being Icarus, stepping too close to the sun and getting burned for his adoration (and in a way he likes it, even when he brushes a thumb against Enjolras' mouth and tries not to flinch at the blister that bubbles on his finger).

They explore one another first because neither is in a hurry and this is a new experience; Enjolras finds the scars that freckle Grantaire's shins from a "day he'd rather not talk about"--Grantaire accidentally stumbles on a thick defect near the base of Enjolras' spine that he had no idea the blonde had. He's consumed with curiosity but the question becomes a moan in the back of his throat when Enjolras slides a hand firmly down his cock.

"Oh, fuck," Grantaire groans and Enjolras bites at his mouth as he strokes him, watches him with half-lidded eyes as he writhes. It's amazing how Grantaire can move; it's controlled when he ruts against Enjolras' hand and digs his fingers into his ribs, flexing but very purposefully not squeezing tightly enough that it might hurt.

Enjolras growls against his collar bone, "I'm not a human, R, I won't break," and that seems to be all the permission he needs; he digs his fingers in like he's molding clay and Enjolras knows within the moment that he'll bruise.

They become rougher with one another, cruder, and Enjolras swirls his thumb against Grantaire's swollen head and gets a loud moan for his efforts. Grantaire takes Enjolras in his palm and the blonde stutters for a moment, looking down at how Grantaire's long fingers curl around him. Grantaire is an artist and he treats Enjolras like a masterpiece, caresses him to his climax just as Enjolras inspires Grantaire to his.

It's messy and both of them are splattered, panting against each other. Grantaire is certain that it has to be one hundred and ten degrees in here at least but that doesn't stop him from leaning forward and setting their foreheads together. Enjolras looks satisfied (his smile reminds Grantaire of a happy housecat) and he kisses Grantaire one more time on his sweaty brow.

"I love you," Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras touches his hand against the bruises sucked onto his chest and chuckles when he says, "I love you too."

They shower together and Grantaire admires his handiwork while he soaps Enjolras; he finds scratches on the blonde's back, colorful spots dappling his sides that perfectly match Grantaire's fingers. He's most proud of the hickey tucked right underneath Apollo's jaw because there will be no hiding that.

Afterward Grantaire goes back to his room and Enjolras heads to Earth (he has another revolution to plan) and he finds his alcohol bottles waiting for him, angled closest to his bed. He frowns at them and remembers the promise, mercilessly squeezes the heat blister aching on his thumb to remind himself. No more drinking--he'd sworn on it.

But he sees the paintings again and he wonders what else he might remember, if only he was drunk enough to paint, and he reasons that Enjolras won't be that mad because it's helping bring them back together. He drinks and rationalizes it and says nothing to his brothers.

When he wakes up the next morning he's sore and hungover, and there's a hand pressed against his cheek. He opens his eyes and Jehan looks down at him, a frown bringing a shadow to his expressive face.

"If you keep drinking you're going to lose him," he says, without explanation as to how he knows or when he found out. He does not retract his hand, and curls a piece of Grantaire's hair around his finger.

Grantaire sighs, closing his eyes again. "This is what I am, Jehan--he fell in love with this before, he can do it again."

Jehan says nothing to disagree but that hypothesis is refuted before Grantaire even makes it to lunch.

**Author's Note:**

> aha anybody who is excited to see this can thank Imogen for requesting it! I'll be doing the other two s/he asked for next c:
> 
> title "Amor ordinem nescit" means "love does not know order".
> 
> no other notes than that, I guess, besides enjoy
> 
> also p.s. I'm hoping that if I write enough porn one day I'll be awesome, cross your fingers for me guys
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest if you want to talk to me or follow or let me kiss your face or whatevs


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